Saturday, 28 February 2015

Laughing All The Way To The (Wank) Bank

58 days porn-free.

Wow, what a week. Been with the lady I met the other night fairly constantly and have had much amazing sexytime. I feel so lucky! This came out of a clear blue sky and brightened up my world no end. She has gone back home now but we have plans to see each other again when I head east later in the year.

Amazing amazing amazing is all I can really say. We spent days together, went for breakfast together, we held hands. And we had loads of sex! It was lovely and there is the added bonus that I now have plenty of material for the wank bank to get me through the (potentially lean) times ahead.

Ok, 90s+ children, I am now going to explain another relic of the Past which was made obsolete by the invention of broadband internet and constant access to free hardcore porno: ladies and gentlemen, I give you, the Wank Bank. This is a place in your memory used exclusively for storing memories and images of past sexy times. Like how a squirrel stores food for the winter; you try to remember specific moments and feelings, in as much detail as possible, from when you got 'fresh' in the past to get you through the times when food (sex) is more scarce.

Again, if you were born after a certain time, you probably think I'm making this up. (Holla if you remember, y'all!). Why would you bother remembering past sexytime when you can just open your laptop and watch it for 'real'?* Because we didn't have the internet, stupid! We couldn't just conjure thousands of sexy images out of nothing. We had to use our minds and memories.

* Incidentally, this could be part of a wider intellectual shift towards storing information in the 'cloud.' I.e. The idea that we don't need to learn anything by rote anymore because we can access said information at any time on the web. Some theorists (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xRoENv7anVM) argue that children no longer need to remember facts or how to spell, they merely need to be able to distinguish good information from bad. This is all well and good as long as the internet remains on. And it's fine for the dates of the Wars of the Roses or how to spell 'Rhododendron' , I just think physical contact should remain actually physical.

And here's the thing. I'm starting to think that knowing we would want to remember these times in the future made us more present in the moment they were happening. It stopped us from taking them for granted because we knew they might not be coming around again for some time and that we might want to remember them forever. Thus we were potentially even more 'alive' while they were going on.

I am not blaming you, fin de siecle children. You never had a choice about what choices would be offered to (or forced upon) you. (Don't hate the player etc). And I'm not saying we (old fucks) are in any way better than you. I'm just trying to evoke a time before these images and videos were available. Trying to remind those who remember and explain to those who don't and, concurrently, put forward the notion that perhaps it was... better?

Better?! Surely this guy is crazy!? But think about it. Isn't it sexier to learn to use your own mind to get yourself off? And possibly better for your imagination and creativity to boot, rather than having millions of images funneled into your mind by a computer, dousing your system in dopamine and leaving you drained and stupified? I don't know, I'm just riffing here, but this is how I'm starting to feel.

And another thing, I now feel more attractive to women. Not possible! I hear you cry. Very funny but listen. Almost everyone on NoFap and Pornfree reports replenished sex-drive and feeling more attractive after a streak (many go further and say they have become sex gods and better businessmen...hmmm) and, when I read it, I thought this was bullshit. But I'm starting to see it. Removing the crutch of PMO makes you more alive to possibilities of actual sexytime.

It makes you realise that (in general) everyone else is on the same page and if you just open your eyes, there are plenty of real people to connect with around all the time. I'm nearly at 60 days PMO-free and I really feel like the benefits are starting to show. Just as when you give up alcohol (or anything) there is a lag while it leaves your system before you see any benefit, but then it 'kicks in' and you start to see benefits everywhere.

As well as this, I don't feel ashamed anymore. I don't have any secrets from anyone (apart from this blog, of course). I don't have to lie about what I do in the evening. I can lend my laptop to my housemate knowing that she won't stumble across anything I would be embarrassed by. Because there's nothing there! I don't need it anymore! I feel clean and free and happier than ever to be so.


Monday, 23 February 2015

Back in the Game

Days 49 through 53

Had sex! Woo for Wayne! Just as I was starting to accept the onset of a major dry spell, awesomeness occurs! There I am, sitting in the bar having a beer after work. It's about 10:30 in the pm. I saw this girl (woman) sitting alone when I walked over to the bar, thought she was super-cute, saw a glass at the bar next to her and assumed she must be with somebody. She was way too attractive to be single, I thought (pessimist that I am.)

I sit a seat away from her and drink a couple of beers watching the (ubiquitous) sports highlights on the big screen. After a half hour or so, I look over and see she has the same phone as me. I say, spontaneously, “Hey, do you hate your phone?”
“No, why?” she replies, and off I go into a rant about how I'm growing to hate my phone more with each day that passes. (This wasn't a line or a lie. The phone is a total prick; the battery life is rubbish, the power button doesn't work, I never notice texts and it calls people in my pocket when I'm singing along to Prince.)

I wasn't expecting anything by striking up this conversation, I was merely saying what was on my mind. But it gets us talking. She is super-receptive and we have eye contact and good body language right from the off. And she's gorgeous -- tall and slim with brown hair and eyes and a killer figure. I'm having trouble believing she's giving me the time of day and trying and put all thoughts of getting with her out of my mind in case I jinx myself.

Turns out she's from out east, is here on holiday and is friends with one of the hostesses from my work. So far, so great. We chat full-on for about half an hour. I buy her a drink, even though I am totally broke. (Thankfully my card didn't let me down at the end, I will just eat biscuits and rice till payday). She's laughing at my jokes and touching my arm and is clearly keen. I feel like pinching myself. Is this happening? To me?

Then her friend arrives and says they're off to another bar. She says do I want to come? Do I? So off we go. We meet a raucous crowd at the next bar and, in a stolen moment, we kiss! Brilliant! Then we go on this kind of bar crawl as the crowd we are with are dissatisfied with each successive bar and move on. I think they are all on cocaine. We eventually stop in a busy dive with a band playing and she starts grinding on me and putting my hands on her boobs. Needless to say, I am very aroused.

She starts telling me she wants to fuck my brains out and I'm nearly dying with a hard-on the size of the Empire State. I ask her to cut out with me and she says... yes!

So we're walking to mine and she asks, “where is your house, anyway?”
Just a short walk through a forest,” I say, lightly.
She stops. “A forest?
Ok, you're right,” I say, “let's get a cab.”
Somehow, a cab rounds the corner at that exact moment. I hail it. It stops. I have no idea how I am going to pay for it at this juncture having been Johnny Buydrinks all night, but I know we have to get it. 

Blessedly, the cab takes cards and mine comes through again. We make it back to mine and sneak in. And that's that. We have great (slightly drunk) sex and fall asleep.

Then the weird bit: I have a dream about PMO. My first one for ages and in the dream, she's right there and I can't work out why I've broken my (pornfree) vow when there is a beautiful, flesh-and-blood woman lying right next to me. I feel stupid and angry with myself and even go through having to admit a relapse on the blog. As usual with these dreams, I wake up completely relieved that it wasn't real, just as when you wake from a realistic nightmare. Maybe it's because there's still a link in my subconscious between sex and PMO. It's definitely strange that a dream like this should come after actual sex.

In the morning, we put it all back together. She texts her friend, it's all good and we have mind-blowing (though I says it myself) sex twice or three times more. I cannot believe how beautiful she is. And we hooked up in a bar! I started a conversation which led to us getting together. At the age of only 31, I did it! And I think I can credit being porn-free with giving me the will to see it through.

I knew I didn't have a crutch to fall back on, so I couldn't afford to let the opportunity slide through my hands. I had to be at my best; be interesting and charming and work for it (as it should be!) And it was great! She's beautiful and smart. She speaks three languages. We spent the morning naked in bed together, talking, laughing and having sex. How much better is that than sitting alone jerking off over a keyboard? It's a thousand times better is what it is! This is what we are supposed to be doing. Making contact with people and enjoying each other, not sitting alone wanking!

And (sorry to go on about this but) she was so gorgeous! I just kept kissing her all over thinking about how lucky I was. When you have sex with someone, you give them your body as a gift and I really felt how special this is and how we should be thankful to the other person for being with us and savour every moment. I'm talking bollocks now cos I'm on a sex-high but I hope that doesn't discredit my message.

Women (and men!) are beautiful creatures with minds and souls and we ([hetro] men)* need to honour them and be grateful that they ever even let us near them. Porn (I think) is the opposite of this. Porn uses women (and men) for our gratification and turns them into objects or machines. I truly think we need to stop watching and start living before it's too late and we forget about what it is that makes us human.

* It's not just hetro men, incidentally, we all -- gay, lesbian, bi, transexual; everybody! -- need to be honouring and loving one another. Urgh, I sound like a hippy.



Thursday, 19 February 2015

He Got Game

Day 45

Went out for my Birthday (did I mention it was my Birthday?) on Sunday to a bar in town. There was a band playing, there were lots of people and everyone was wasted. I sat at a table with my friends. I wanted to get up and dance but felt stuck in my seat. I felt like if I got up on the dance floor, I would just look stiff and stupid.

Whilst watching the drunk people sway to Bob Marley covers the band were playing, I notice this guy dressed (in my opinion) ridiculously. He's wearing (too) tight black jeans, a tight (too-small) t-shirt and a cowboy hat. And he's dancing like an idiot! He looks like a cowboy Michael Flatly. My first thought is, “look at this clown. What is he thinking?” Then I notice, however, that he is dancing with two quite attractive women. He's prancing about, putting the cowboy hat on their heads and they are loving it and getting all sexy with him.

My initial reaction was again one of scorn, both for him and (interestingly) the women he was dancing with. I was thinking, “why can't they see through it? This guy is an obvious sleazeball.” Then I realised the real reason behind my derision: jealousy. This guy had 'game' and I was completely jealous of him. He didn't care what I (or anyone else) thought of him, he was doing what he could and he was doing fine. And wait a moment, which one of us was dancing with two nice-looking girls here?


'Game' is something most (in general) Canadian men have in spades; if they think a girl is good-looking, they tell her, or they ask her to dance. They are very much 'men' and there is rarely danger of them slipping into the Friend Zone. This ability to convert talking to women into sexytime (or even just starting a conversation in the first place) is what I consider to be having 'game.' It's something by which I currently feel curiously deserted.

I'm becoming more and more convinced that porn was the crutch which stopped me from ever getting past this point or facing this fear. Normally after a night of frustration like this, I would go home and whack off and this (somehow) would make it alright. Now I'm not doing this, however, I know I've got to grow up, be brave and (re)learn how to interact asap. I'm frustrated enough to make a change as I now have no alternative.

Really what I think is that access to porn is making and keeping us ever-more alone and anesthetizing us to the reality of it. Just as alcohol, tobacco and caffeine prop us up throughout our tedious weeks in our shitty jobs, so porn makes us feel less alone when we come home to an empty flat after a long day.

Porn makes it bearable that we don't speak to people on the train or approach those we find attractive; we've got an alternative which offers us just enough to keep going. Sure, it's a pale imitation of real human contact, but the longer it stands in for it, the more the memory of actual contact fades and porn begins to replace it completely. A simulacrum of the real, it becomes our 'human' contact.

Take it away and we feel the loss. We (porn addicts) actually have a relationship with our laptops. The routine of PMO becomes built into our lives until porn essentially becomes our girl/boyfriend! It's a shite state of affairs!

Day 46

Comedy gig in the big town a couple of hours drive away. Did nearly 70% brand-new material and nailed it. Felt great to be brave. For some reason, my confidence in this area has been far higher since I got to Canada. I think being an 'oddity' gives me a bit of a leeway and I guess also I'm not afraid of being judged by my (English) peers so I have more confidence. Whatever the case, it's working for me right now.

Q: How I can I be brave enough to do this and still not brave enough to talk to women?

Actually a couple of girls did speak to me (saying “good job” etc) including one who was clearly up for it. But she seemed pretty drunk and trashy, and she had this ridiculous faux-British accent which really put me off. Also, she evidently wanted to talk while there was an act on stage and I was not into this.

Etiquette dictates that if you want to be listened to when you're on stage, you listen to others when they are. Also, I am a die-hard comedy fan, and can never abide cnuts who talk through performances. So I moved away from her. She ended up talking to some hipster (she to him: “I love your jacket.” Him to her: “thanks, I made it myself.”), both of them then getting told to shut up by the (awesome, grey-haired biker) promoter.

So I had a (half) chance and I intentionally blew it. What is it they say about beggars and choosers? Anyway, I had a great night comedy-wise. I could see some of the women in the room watching me as I left. In a perverse way, I enjoyed ignoring them (!) and disappearing into the night like an enigma (twat), but really I'm pretty lonely and would love for one of them to have spoken to me. That sounded a lot less sad in my head, by the way.

I got to thinking, is this why I do comedy? So girls will pick me up? Seems like a lot of effort to go to just to avoid a small amount of rejection, but there could be something in it.

In other news, got a match on Tinder with this girl with an intentionally gross profile pic where she's squishing up her chin to give herself a double. NOTE: never discount out of hand the intentionally 'ugly' profile pic. Could be a secret hottie with a gsoh.

Day 48

Have started to feel that I am wasting my time. Not with the NoPorn Challenge (convinced on that one) but with the diary and the blog. What's the point of doing all this writing if no-one's ever going to read it? Does anyone even care about whether porn is having a negative affect on the world? Is there even any point to what I am doing? And how do I get any cnut to read it if I can't tell my friends about it?

The other day I was describing the project to a house guest of my room mates and he asked what it was about and I couldn't tell him. I just mumbled something and said I''d rather not say. Now they see me writing the whole time and it seems weird that I can't tell them what it is.

In a way, I am not prepared to tell them what it is until it is successful. But it will never be successful unless I tell them what it is. Catch twenty-bloody-two.

I even applied to put the blog on Mumsnet! What was I thinking? Mumsnet!? The best that's going to come of this is that I get a load of middle-aged housewives reading about me whacking off, the worst is that I end up on the f***ing Register!

I see the page views go up but have no idea how many of those are just me re-reading what I've written. So here's an appeal, friends, if you're reading and enjoying, tell someone! Anyone! Just tell them and then get them to tell someone else. And then get them to tell someone else. And then get them.. You get the picture.

Thanks,

Wayne


P.s Sprained my thumb snowboarding so have been off the hill again. Been in the house all day by myself fighting powerful PMO cravings. Usually these would be the ideal conditions for me to binge in but I am still staying strong. Been watching Charlie Brooker and Catastrophe, both of which are aces. Also been writing a lot (obviously). I remain porn-free, though it is still a challenge.

Wednesday, 18 February 2015

Me, My Porn and I (1)

Warning: The following post is likely to be embarrassing. For all of us.

The history of my porn-use is long and (actually not incredibly) varied. I suppose I could go back as far as the age of six, when I remember being mesmerized by a drawing of a woman in bra and pants in a children's book at school. It was called something like, What My Family Wear, and there was a bit about 'Mummy wears a bra and knickers' (+ illustration) which got me all hot under the collar even then. Sure, it's not porn, but could this be have been the beginning? I remember sneaking off to the library at primary school to look at this page and, even at such a young age, deriving pleasure from what I knew to be the illicit nature of what I was doing.

Then followed the inevitable looking at the underwear section of mail order magazines. This was somewhat of a rite of passage for boys (and girls?) of my generation. We didn't have the internet, and there was no other way for us to access the images that fascinated us than printed material we found around the home, like the Freemans Catalogue. We would go round to friends' houses at the age of 8 or 9 and stare at the pictures of models in bras and g-strings. Again, we didn't really know what we were doing, but we knew we liked it.

My first taste of actual porn was at around age 11. I was cycling near my house in the countryside when I saw something bright pink in a drainage ditch.* I fished it out – it was sodden but intact – and found it was a copy of Men Only, a classic 'dirty' mag of yesteryear.

* For some reason, and I know as my contemporaries have confirmed this, this is how many kids first came into contact with porn. Somehow, porn mags always ended up in drainage ditches by the sides of isolated roads. What did this mean? Were they being left there by some older benefactor? Or were men buying porn mags on the way home from work, whacking off in a carpark and then (literally) ditching the evidence before they got home? If this was the case, why didn't they just throw them away?

I had the briefest of looks at it, but was pretty sure from the bright pink cover of what I had found: 24-carat-f***ing-gold. I shoved it under my t-shirt and cycled home. When I got there, I ran straight up to my room and stashed it. I didn't have the minerals to look at it straight away; I knew I would have to wait until the house was quiet. The anticipation was intense.

Later when I took the mag out and had a proper look, I couldn't believe it. I peeled the pages apart (it was wet from the water in the ditch, remember, O filthy-minded Reader) and stared, open-mouthed. In front of me was page after page of highly made-up, garishly-lit and naked women bending over and spreading their legs. Part of me found it disgusting – I had never seen anything so graphic before, neither had I dared to imagine what resided at the meeting of a woman's thighs – but the far greater part of me was aroused beyond belief.

I had an erection almost immediately, but had no idea what to do with/to it. I was still pretty young, and had not started (or even really heard talk about) masturbating yet. Somehow, though, I knew what I had to do. I started gingerly 'self abusing' as I turned the pages over.

After a while of this and nothing seeming to 'happen', I gave up and put the magazine away. I looked at it again a few times after that, but it didn't keep well and eventually I took it back to its rightful place in the drainage ditch. Who knows, perhaps some other young scamp would come across (no pun intended) it and have his/her sexual awakening in the same way.

It was not long after this that a major development occurred: we got a PC. Up until this time, there had been a computer in the house but is was really nothing more than a glorified typewriter. I think it was called a Multimate (holla if you remember!) and was one of those with a black screen, green writing and a flashing cursor like you see in 80s movies about maverick investigative journalists.

It had a couple of games on like Bounce (where you use the arrow keys to move the platform and bounce the ball to break the bricks), Frog (with a little frog crossing various obstacles) and, of course the classic, Space Invaders. I used to play these from time-to-time but was far more interested in doing things outside or watching television. The computer was a thing my parents used for work, and certainly not something central to my life.

This all changed when the PC came along. This was 96/97 and the height of the Windows 'revolution.' Microsoft had suddenly taken home computing to the next level (and the internet was now a thing) and normal families all over the developed world were jumping aboard.

I remember my dad carefully unwrapping the various components and connecting them up. It was a Gateway 2000 and had a black-and-white cow motif on the mouse mat. I had only used computers with mice (mouses?) at school and could not believe that this modernism was now entering my own home. It felt like the future.

Soon, it was ready to connect to the internet. This was 'dial-up' internet and, if you were born after about 1995, you're going to have trouble conceiving of such a thing. It was 'dial-up' because it was supplied down your phone line. When you booted it up, it made all these crazy 'futuristic' dialing sounds (like when Neo gets connected to the Matrix in The Matrix). In the early days, if a household had only one phone line, it would not work when the internet was on and you could lose a download of a song (or porn clip) or whatever just by someone trying ring you (or even someone in your own house picking up the phone) partway through.

The maximum capacity of internet of this kind was about 3.5 k/s. Did you hear what I said?! K/s. Not Mb, Kb. Again, if you were born after a certain time, it will be hard to understand just how slow this was. It's basically on its way to being a thousand times slower than the internet is now.

Even normal web pages would take up to a minute to download. Early users of the internet were used to sitting, tantalised, as the web page they wished to view slowly downloaded in sections before their eyes. Think of when a phone (a phone for Christ's sake!) is buffering these days and how frustrated you get, then double it and you're still not even close. If broadband internet is all you have ever known, spare a thought for its first users, who wasted substantial chunks of life watching blank screens download at snail's pace.

Not long after we got the internet, I had my first taste of what I would be predominantly using it for for the next 15 years or so. I was looking at a page of popular websites at yell.com. At the top of the list was something called FHM. I had never heard of this, so I clicked on it and was transported to the pages of For Him Magazine, one of the first popular 'lad's' mags.

Now, you can dress these publications up as whatever you like; cultural almanacs with a bit of sexiness on the side, but really we all know what they are: soft porn. The moment I got to the website, I knew I was onto something as pics of babes with next to nothing on* slowly materialised on the screen. Suddenly I realised, I didn't have to go to a shop to get porn; I didn't need to look at my friend's dad's old copies of the Sun in his garage; I could beam these pictures straight into my own house without anybody knowing at absolutely no cost (to me)!

* Again, you boys (and girls) today have no idea how lucky (or not) you are, with all the full boobage on show in FHM and Nuts. In my day, lad, you'd see a single nipple maybe once every three issues, now they're on the f***ing cover!

And so it happened that, at almost the exact time I hit puberty, I found I had access to a giant (and ever-growing) resource for nudie pics of women.

Over the next little while, I did a lot of 'research.' I found that you could easily find naked pics of girls just by typing 'naked pics of girls' into Alta Vista (what we used before Google owned the world.) Slowly, I built up a catalogue of websites on which I could find what I wanted. It started just with pictures, and even these were painfully slow to download. Imagine rolling up an A4 picture of a naked woman and then unravelling it slowly in front of your face. It took ages to get to the 'good stuff'!

A teen of this era would simply not believe what we had to go through just to look at a static picture of boobs. It was excruciating! But it was all we knew, and we were too bowled over that we could do it at all to feel sorry for ourselves.

So there I was, on the edge of diving into a relationship which would last for the next half of my life. Driven by I didn't know what, searching through this new medium for images of things I had never seen before. Little did I realise that it was the beginning of an obsession that in some ways would come to define my private self for years to come and, one day, would become a burden of which to rid myself.

Saturday, 14 February 2015

Cock Blocker

February 2015

Day 40 (midnight)

I think I've been thinking about sex too much. Need to calm down. Part of my goal in giving up porn is to learn to stop constantly objectifying women and seeing them only in terms of their bodies and sex. I need to shift everything including how I think about women and sex not just what I do day-to-day. There's no point giving up porn if I just transfer my lust and sex fixation onto real world women.

Also, if I can change my attitude to sex and grow-up, I have a far better chance of staying away from porn. Need to concentrate on connecting with women (and everyone!), not just trying to elicit sex from them (women, not everyone). Ironically, trying less hard and really paying attention will (hopefully) make me more attractive to women than a desperate sleaze who only wants to jump their bones.

Day 42

Bumped into my mate's ex in the bar at work after I finished my shift. She had been at a dance class with her friends and I sat and had a few drinks with them. Ended up going for more drinks with her and her (attractive, attached) friend and eventually going to a cheesy nightclub in town.

The guys in there were unbelievable. I mean, fair enough, both these girls are pretty hot but all they were doing was trying to have a dance. And, honestly, at any given moment there were upwards of three-five guys trying to dance with/grab them or grind up against them. The girls were totally not into it and I became like the 'eunuch in the harem' trying to 'dance' these guys out of the way. I went for dancing 'big' as this usually works for clearing a nice little space on the dancefloor as people scatter, fearing injury from my flailing limbs.

It was a constant battle! Some of these guys just would not quit! And whenever one or two of them got bored and left, more would take their place. They were like orks. I even had to say to some of them, “Look, she's not interested,” (I'd obviously check with her first [like a gent]) but it made little or no difference, they just kept coming back. At one point, we were surrounded by dudes and they were all pointing at me and talking behind their hands – I thought I was going to get set upon! As if they'd identified me as the ultimate cockblocker and were conspiring to glass me to death or something.

My friend's (attached, remember) friend was doing the whole 'you'll have to be my boyfriend' thing and putting her arm round me and dancing sexy and stuff. I enjoyed the contact, but I could not help feeling that her boyfriend would not have been very impressed. And I've been in situations like this before and dropped myself right in the shit, so much as I wanted to grind right back, I tried to keep it 'legal.'

In the end I was enjoying 'batting' these guys away. I cannot overstate the persistence and shamelessness of their approaches. Of course they were drunk, but honestly it was embarrassing for everyone. I kept thinking of all the times I've been that drunk and desperate (it's a lot, sadly) and how ridiculous I must have looked.

There was this one guy who just 'hovered' about all night. Never speaking or smiling, never really acknowledging us but also never more than five feet away. What did he think was going to happen? That if he wafted about long enough one of the girls would eventually just grab him and kiss his face off? Sadly, I have 'been' this guy in the past and I can tell you this is almost certainly what was going on in his drink-addled mind.

The other thing that struck me was what a pain in the arse it must be just being a woman in a nightclub. I've always looked at it from a positive standpoint. I.e. 'it's so unfair! Women can get sex whenever they want!' Maybe (generally) true, but what if they go out and they don't want sex? Doesn't matter to men (though #notallmen), they will assume that if two girls are out in a club, they must want sex – or they don't care what the women want – and that all they have to do is grab at them until they give in. Not only is it tiresome for the women in this scenario, but the whole male race ends up looking like pathetic, gropey idiots who need to be fought off with a f***ing stick.

Men! We need to do better! I am one of you and I behave like this too! But from the other side, it looks really stupid! Respect yourselves! Respect women! Respect in general! Yeah!



P.s. My mate's ex is also attractive and single. There is clearly a spark between us but she's my mate's (quite recent) ex, so what am I going to do? Nothing is what.

When we left the club, we talked about the crowds of drunk-zombie-men and the girls both said thanks for getting in the way. I said 'no worries' and walked back home. It felt good to be mature.

Day 43

Woke up with a hangover and was feeling super-horny. Couldn't stop thinking about my friend's friend from the night before. Eventually fapped thinking about having a threesome with them both. Sad, but true* Does this undo all the good thoughts from the day before? It doesn't do them any good, I don't think. Here I am talking about respecting women and not thinking of them as sex objects, objectifying the two friends I spent the night before 'protecting' from other men. Quel con!

* Good title for my autobiography?

I still think it's more healthy than looking at porn, though. And this is what fantasies are, right? Fantasies. Made-up thoughts that we never have any intention (or indeed hope) of ever acting out. Does it degrade them if I think about them sexually? I'm not sure. The fantasy was awesome, by the way (over-share?) so that's something, I suppose.

Had to fight a strong PMO urge all morning. As on New Year's Day, I think there is a Pavlovian link in my psyche between hangovers and PMO. Potentially the way for a lot of men: you feel bad and you're frustrated by the unfulfilled lust from the night of drinking, and porn offers you the chance to feel good and work off your excess libido.

Unfortunately, the moment you come, shame and loneliness wash over you (always did for me, anyways) and you feel worse than before you started. Thinking like this enabled me to resist the urge but it was a stronger craving than I've had in a while.

In other news and just to discredit myself further, I have a new method with Tinder. Now I just swipe right on every one and then go through my matches if/when I get them. I know this sounds crass but this is the only way a guy can get any kind of choice. Tinder is a 'women's medium' in that they are much more likely to be able to choose who they match with.* 

* Having said this, women still need to be careful. Although it's easy for them to get matches, it's also easy for them to end up with creeps sending them photos of their cocks at 2am.

Men don't have the 'luxury' of being selective and I think if you spend all your time looking at photos and reading bios and only swiping on the ones you like, you are much less likely to ever get even one match. It's basically an app for casual hook-ups, so there's no point being precious about it is my thinking.

Actually got a few matches from this method including a couple that are not bad-looking. Now have to work on my (frankly embarrassing) chat in order to get a conversation going. I don't get it; in person, (I think) I am lively and funny but when I start emailing all I've got are dad jokes and lame come-ons. Practice practice I guess.

I hope you don't think the above discounts the above-that. I mean everything I say on this blog and my overarching aim is to be honest. You guys are seeing me 'warts and all' so that you can understand where I'm coming from and hopefully come to see (some or all of these) things from my point-of-you. Don't think less of me everybody (assuming you thought anything in the first place)!

Cheers,


Wayne

Wednesday, 11 February 2015

Real Time

We've done it everybody! We've caught up with me! I had to spend a few days indoors not snowboarding (#firstworldprobs) but we are now almost fully up-to-date. From now on, you will be reading my (brilliant, effervescent) thoughts as close to as they occur as is practicable.

What follows are my most recent diary entries plus some other flotsam from my mind hole. Enjoy.

Days 36 – 40, February 2015

Day 37

No. of days without sex: 29. There don't seem to be any single people here. Or if there are, I am not meeting them. Maybe that's how it goes in a small town; If you find someone you like you hold onto them for dear life. Or maybe it's because I am now a colossally old bastard and everyone's getting married. Whatever the case, the result is the same: no sexytime for Wayne.

I feel like the tick in the book Perfume, waiting dormant in the bark of the tree until an animal (woman) comes within striking distance for me to burrow into the skin of (have sex with). This analogy went unintentionally offensive, but I hope you can see where I'm coming from. I hope in the very least, that being this sex-starved will force me to make the most of any opportunity to copulate should it arise. Ever.

Day 38

Been on Tinder WAY to much. As I said before, it has in some ways replaced porn as a procrastination station. Thankfully, the smallness of the town has prevented it from taking over my life as there just aren't that many women out there. Have had one match with a straight-looking Australian and have been half-heartedly chatting. Could meet up but am not bowled over by her and have little enthusiasm. Would probably be a good idea to force myself to go anyway just in case my mojo dissappears for good.

I think either my Tinder profile is extremely poor or I am a complete ug, as I rarely seem to get any matches. Must work on getting better photos.* Granted I could try and go out and speak to women face-to-face (I will one day, promise) but I'm too scared right now, so this will have to do.

* I have seriously considered doing a Tinder 'photoshoot' where I go out with various changes of clothes and get a friend to snap me looking casual yet devastatingly handsome. Out and about, making my (well-dressed, successful) friends laugh, helping lost children and petting cute animals. Or putting all of these into one photo: wearing a dirty vest, fixing a car and holding a baby while my (well-dressed, successful) friends titter in the background at some brilliant witticism I have made.

Day 39

Got 'unmatched' from a girl on Tinder! I didn't even know that was possible! I match with this girl last night. She's 24 and – surprise sur-fucking-prise – Australian. I decide to message her straight off. One of her photos was of her holding a fish she had presumably caught so I said:

Hey J! We done matched with each other. Nice fish!

Perhaps a little off-the-wall (I was going for the quirky/funny angle, obviously) but not exactly offensive, right? Right, guys? Guys?

I look on the Tinder this morning, and she's gone from my list of matches. Did a bit of research and found the 'unmatch' option on another profile. So this, I assume, is what must have happened. I mean, fair enough don't respond but unmatch? Really? I didn't even fancy her that much! I was only being polite! What a total smeghead!

Day 40

Well, that's today and I'm still porn-free. Playing a gig again tonight so there is a chance of meeting an Australian probably. Feeling good about having written so much. Am worrying about the comedy night I plan to put on here in town and that I haven't done enough stand-up recently. But I am not really thinking about porn (apart from writing about it all day, what I mean is not in a sexy/stupid way). So things are good.

I did some serious work on the Tinder profile including managing to get a poncy selfie (shirt on) on there without anyone on the FB finding out. Am currently in the middle of a self-imposed 24-hour ban due to over-use. I was getting one swipe and then the home screen, then checking back every ten minutes. It was getting silly so I've left it and am hoping the selfie will do its work. (Obviously it's devastatingly handsome).

I also read a lot of articles (best one probably this one: http://thoughtcatalog.com/e-m-baecker/2014/02/8-tinder-profile-tips-from-a-woman/) about Tinder and how to use it (i.e. how to get laid). There are loads of pick-up artist types who tell you how to 'score' 5 times a week. To be honest, I'm just trying to get matches, so have been listening to female advice more than male. Apparently a face selfie is ok for a profile pic as prospective matches just want to see your face. Seems fair enough. I can't believe I spent two fucking hours reading about this shit at lunchtime. Something tells me I need to get out more.

Anyway, here's to 40 days without porn. I'm staying strong and loving it. Cheers!

P.S. Skyped with Kelly for an hour at 1am this morning. She looked great. I would have been up for having skex with her but there's no way she'd be into it (I don't think). Was nice to see her face and talk. I think I miss her.

Your Thoughts, Though

Week 5 (days 30-37), February 2015

Started keeping a diary. Moved to new house and decided to start recording thoughts and feelings as often as possible. Thought it might be interesting and would probably help me focus on my goal (being porn-free forever if you missed the title).

So here's a taste of what I writ in my little black book.

Day 30

Found 'NoFap' Reddit thread. (http://www.reddit.com/r/NoFap/). Seems like a lot of people are trying to cut out everything – alcohol, smoking, porn, masturbation – the whole lot. 'Fapping'* is slang for masturbation, so the guys on this thread are trying not to wank at all, porn or no.

(* Tried to find out what FAP might stand for and found that it is actually a kind of phonetic slang for bashing it. Pretty distasteful if you think about it. If you're having trouble imagining what I'm talking about, listen to the noise in the background of this Buddy Holly track: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ty31QY5ZGHo. Have we finally decoded the secret message of the song? Or was there, unbeknown to the band, some guy furiously whacking off in the back of the studio during recording? We may never know, but whatever the case, it certainly adds a much-needed percussive element to the song.)

I have to say that I don't see 'fapping' as the problem. I'm just trying to cut out porn. If I am honest, I think masturbation is a healthy outlet. I'm also of the opinion that using your imagination to fantasize is probably good for you, too.

However, there are definitely some interesting (as well as funny, sad and downright crazy) views on display here and, indeed, the the thread's very existence tells you something about what's in the air.

Day 32

Internet appears to be broken at the new place and owners are away. This has removed any temptation, although cravings have not been very strong. Fapping is now something to get out of the way, like brushing your teeth or cutting your toe nails. Now just a means to an end, not a pursuit in its own right, leaving much more time available to live real life.

Day 33 (4 of no internet)

Still no sex. I went out after work the other night. There were (obviously) girls there and I felt old and out of touch. Could not conceive of talking to any of these women, let alone convincing one of them to have sex with me. I realise have pretty much always felt like this. I only really get with women when I get the chance to speak to them one-on-one or I am emboldened by drink or drugs. Could it be that internet porn has been the crutch which has enabled me never to have to face this fear? Has porn been my longest relationship?

No porn dreams* but other dreams have been intense. Is it that I'm in a new place or that my dopamine levels are returning to normal (or both)? Definitely feeling full of ideas. Not sure if I can credit NoPorn with this, though it must be helping (see previous discussion RE movies).

* Had several dreams over the last month in which PMO occurred. Usually, in the dream, I fap to porn, feel bad but then decide to binge since I've fucked up anyway. The realisation that it was a dream is followed by a huge wave of relief. Had these dreams (still do occasionally) after giving up smoking three years ago. Take it as a generally good sign that I am only acting out in my subconscious and still feel guilty.

Day 34

Played an open mic at a local bar. People (non-performers) think performers and musicians get laid all the time. Well not this one buddy! I must've got laid after gigs (comedy, music and acting) maybe three times in my entire life. This night was no different. There were women there but none of them spoke to me (poor me etc).

I left at around 1am and just down the road see this girl sitting in the snow with no coat on. I ask her what she's doing and she doesn't seem to know. I say I'll help her get back to her hostel and she starts walking the wrong way from town. I suggest we go back to where I just was to use their wifi and find out where she actually lives.

We find that it is in fact in town and I start walking her there. I give her my coat (quel gent). She is Australian and completely wasted. She keeps saying, “Where are we?” and, “It's so cold,” every five minutes making Yours Truly look like the world's biggest date-rapist.

Finally we get back to her hostel, she gives me back my coat and says, “see you guys!” and is gone. “See you guys”?? Jesus, what's the fucking point?

Day 36

Realised I had not fapped for a few days, felt proud of myself then got horny thinking about it and fapped. Still, not the end of the world. Nice to be thinking about other things. Have internet now (turns out the cat had unplugged to router) but no cravings.

On opening my laptop the other day, I realised I get horny in Pavlovian anticipation of PMO just by performing this action. That's how ingrained it becomes in your psyche after fifteen years of addiction!


PS. Still no sex!

Tuesday, 10 February 2015

Addicted? Moi?

So if you've been reading, you'll have noticed me using a lot of addiction terminology with regard to porn. Words like, 'binge,' 'trigger,' 'relapse,' 'edging' and so forth. This is because I have come to realise that I was (still am and will always be) a porn-addict. Admitting this and coming to terms with it was, as is always the case, the first step on the road to recovery. I am writing this blog under an assumed name because I am not yet fully comfortable with telling the Whole Damn World. I will one day, I promise, but for the moment I am still ashamed. Sad, but true.

Addiction is essentially compulsive behaviour that we have little or no control over. I wasn't spending multiple hours every day looking at porn. I wasn't letting it interfere with work or social engagements, but I was using it habitually. I might have days away from it but I'd always be back and, over the years, I developed what I have come to recognise as a dependency.

If this is not news to you, I apologise, but for those not in the know, here are some addiction basics. (Also I am not a psychologist. If you are and you find my exposition painfully inadequate, please admonish/enlighten me in the comments. Thanks:) Addiction is usually based around a release of dopamine. Dopamine is a hormone secreted by our brains and is basically the Good Shit. It's what gets released and causes us to feel pleasure when we smoke, when we drink, when we have sex. It is responsible for our dreams.

When we watch porn, we get a huge surge of dopamine and as long as we keep jerking off, the dope just keeps on coming (as it were). Our brains can't distinguish between sexual arousal caused by real sex and the sexual arousal caused by porn. Because procreation is hard-wired into the most primitive parts of our brains, it will keep us doing whatever it is for as long as gene-transferal appears to be probable.

So the brain will keep porn pleasurable for us for as long as we want to do it for. This causes a feedback loop which would probably go on forever if it wasn't for the fact that we eventually ejaculate and feel (temporarily) satisfied. So yes, you can absolutely be addicted to porn just as you can be addicted to alcohol, gambling or heroin.

Add to this dopamine-fest a thing called The Coolidge Effect, and you've got some serious time-wasting on your hands. The Coolidge Effect is (better) explained here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wSF82AwSDiU but in essence states that a male's capacity for sexual stimulation and ability to be aroused will continue as long as there are new, ready and willing mates in the vicinity. And this, friends, is where the internet fucks us right in our stupid asses: never-ending novelty.

One of the greatest draws of porn is the novelty. We can always find new sites, new pornstars, different fetishes. There are literally millions of pages, thousands of pornstars (with new ones arriving all the time), myriad genres* and categories. It will always be 'fresh' so it will always be exciting. And this is why so many men (and women?) have trouble putting it down. In a way – as with all addiction – we are not even in control but the fact that porn appeals to evolutionary imperatives for procreation and survival means it can be one of the very hardest to kick.

* (I have always found the term 'genre' slightly ambitious with regard to porn. You have 'genres' of music and fine art, not of people fucking. I don't think anyone ever said, "I mean, Busty Sluts 5 truly redefined the genre of Big Tits Porn." Also, this is fine while the 'genres' remain relatively simple, but what about when they start getting amalgamated into compound genres like Post-Spunk, Rhythm n Boobs, Afro-Cuban Jizz, Cock n Hole and Spunky House?)

Once again, you might think I'm being dramatic. As I've said before, these are all personal realisations. I'm not judging or speaking for anybody else, I'm just narrating my thoughts and feelings and relaying what I have learned. If you feel your relationship with porn is under control and (be honest!) healthy and have squared the morality with yourself, then good luck to you. If, on the other hand, any of what I’m saying is ringing a bell, then I hope what I'm writing helps you even in the smallest way.

If you watch the rest of the TED Talk video above, you might be astounded by the fact that when looking for a control in their experiment, the scientists concerned could not find any men under a certain age who did not use porn. Not one! Allow me to clarify, of the men they spoke to initially, 100% were now using porn regularly! These are men and boys born after the advent of broadband internet, who will never have known a world without access to free hardcore porn. To someone who was young before the internet was a thing, I can't help worrying that this in not a good statistic.

However you feel about porn, I think you will agree that its depiction of sex – from the gargantuan, shaven phalli to the submissive, bald-vagina'd nymphets being penetrated by them – is not realistic. You and I know this. We are grown-ups. But what if this was your sex-ed? Don't you think you might be growing up with a somewhat warped picture of sex? Women are (in general) rarely treated with respect in porn and men are little more than massive cocks-on-a-stick. I'm not religious and I'm not a crusader, but I find the whole thing pretty troubling.

I am a feminist. I define this in the same way as Chimamamanda Adichie as, "a person who believes in the social, political and economic equality of the sexes." Porn, as it is today, is an overwhelmingly 'male' medium. It is made almost exclusively by men for an audience which is also majority male. Where do women figure in this? They are almost always the 'objects' of desire but very rarely catered for or respected by the medium in which they feature so predominantly. 

There are certainly some performers who truly love what they do and are not damaged by it but there are literally thousands more who are railroaded into it, come from backgrounds of abuse, make no money from it and resort to drink and drug addiction to make it through. In my humble opinion, it's a disgrace that our society treats women (and men) like this and as long as there's demand – I.e. as long as you and I are jerking off over it – it will continue. If you see yourself as a feminist or you care about the welfare of your wives, husbands, mothers, fathers, daughters and sons, stop looking! Opt out! To paraphrase Gandhi, be the change you want to see!

P.s. More food for thought can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gRJ_QfP2mhU

Ass, Ass, Ass

Week 4, January 2015

Nearly relapsed this week. It was Australia Day on the 26th and someone put up this comedy video on the FB comparing 'Merica and 'Straya Days. Not immediately somewhere you'd expect to find sexy thoughts but wait. The clip opens on the mid-section of a pretty girl in a bikini with Australian and U.S flags on. (Jeez, I'm getting turned-on just thinking about it [over-share?]). Then she turns around and the 'Australian' side of her panties is bunched into her (beautiful) arse-crack. She unceremoniously runs her finger under the hem to pull it out, then lets the elastic snap back against her butt cheeks. There is the slightest booty wobble, then she walks away from the camera and it follows for about ten steps.

(The gag, perpetuated through the rest of the short, is that Americans are lame mommy's boys while Australians are tough crazy mofos who don't give one fuck. [Guess the nationality of its makers] Not that I had any interest, all I cared about was the ass.)

There I was: slap bang (no pun intended) in the dangerzone. It's not porn by any stretch of the imagination but it is me getting hot under the collar about something I'm watching on the internet. And that, friends, is not good. I probably watched this video about five times the first time I saw it and then re-visited it on multiple occasions. I didn't actually fap to it, but I came pretty close. I definitely had several imagi-wanks* over it and watched it way too many times.

* How we used to jerk off before the internet. Using our minds. Imagine that if you can, late-90s-born children.

Eventually, I had to admit to myself that this was not healthy and that I was only a hop, skip and jump away from a major fail. Sad as I was to say goodbye to those exquisite buttocks, I had to ban myself from watching the video. I later found that there is a term for what I was up to. It's called 'edging' and it's the equivalent of an ex-smoker having a couple of drags on a cigarette but pretending they can handle it.

At this point you are effectively standing at the 'edge' of a slippery slope and you're inches away from falling off and sliding down into a giant jizzpit of porn binging. So you've got to stop! You've got to be honest with yourself (this, I realise, is key when facing down an addiction), admit what you're doing and put a stop to it there and then.

It would be so easy to say, 'this isn't porn. I'm not breaking my vow,' but deep-down, you know you're using it in the same way and that you're flirting with disaster. It's made doubly difficult by all the T & A on display all over the FB and the internet in general but you've got to learn to recognise 'triggers' when you see them and give them a wide berth.

In other news, I got a job as a pot-scrubber (Dad so impressed) and found a place to live. The house is over the river through a forest with an icy walk to get to it. It has a woodburner and a cat in it. I am now living the Canadian Dream; snowboarding all day and working a shit job at night. What with starting work in a busy kitchen, snowboarding a lot and getting in late and exhausted, I have not had too much time or energy for thinking about porno, the above-mentioned episode excluded.

I feel like I'm making it. Getting through the Ass Episode made me feel strong. I still know why I'm doing this and every day that passes without porn makes me feel like a better person. I can make it. I believe. 




P.S. Still no sex! Feel like I haven't even met a single woman for ages. Been using Tinder way too much and on the FB a lot, too. Potentially these are replacing porn in the procrastination stakes but the town is so small that you only ever get three or four swipes on Tinder before it says 'there's no one new around you.' Probably a blessing in disguise. I am at the point of a no-sex spell where I start to feel like it's never going to happen again. 

OH CANADA

Days 14 through 21

Moved to Canada for a year. Long story but eventually decided I would regret not doing it more than doing it. So I did it. Said goodbye to Kelly (and regular sexytime) and my London house and job and all the things I know and flew to the mountains in Alberta, Canada. Been staying in my buddy's house with limited personal/private space. Obviously ideal conditions for not looking at porn.

Periods of upheaval and change can be a great time to give things up as new circumstances give you a chance to break old habits. I know I sound like some sort of motivational speaker when I talk like this, but habit is probably your biggest enemy when trying to break an addiction. It basically is addiction. Samuel Beckett sums it up thusly: “Habit is the ballast which chains a dog to his vomit.” 

With smoking, the physical addiction lasts something as short as a mere forty-eight hours. After that, all you're fighting is the habit of smoking; the fact that you used to do it after a meal, that you always had one with coffee. It's the routine you're missing not the nicotine. Wow, that almost sounds like a slogan.

My point remains, though. Taking yourself away from the same old streets and the same old bedroom can really help when trying to avoid a porn-binge. Of course, it's not always possible it's just the situation I happen to have found myself in and it sure has worked this week.

There have been stresses. Particularly money and a place to live. In the past, worries like this would have sent me straight to the internet but I am really working to channel my energies into something – anything – else. I am trying to spend more time reading, writing, playing the guitar and watching (non-porno obviously) films.

Interestingly (or not), my enjoyment of films has increased dramatically since I quit PMO. It started with Birdman (which I thought was the phatness) and continued with Interstellar which, for all its flaws, is still a banger. Could be a coincidence, but it could also be that my imagination is undergoing a sort of renaissance now that it's not being drowned in porn every day. Just a thought.

So anyway, they say 'time enjoyed is never wasted' and broadly speaking, I agree. My point about PMO, though, is that the time spent on it is not truly enjoyed. Sure you get your rocks right off but don't try and tell me that as soon as you've come you don't feel like a loser. Closing down the windows of porn (which incidentally now seem disgusting) a wave of shame washes over you and you feel sad and alone.

I'm guessing this is how you feel. It's certainly how I always did. Maybe this is not the case. Maybe you high-five yourself in the mirror, shout 'fuck YEAH!' and slam down your laptop lid like a boss. If that's the case, you're a stronger man than me and, somehow, I'm guessing the former scenario is closer to the truth.

This was one of the biggest factors which pushed me to finally give up: all that wasted time. I'm a writer and a creative. When I think about the (likely) thousands of hours I've spent staring, semi-catatonic, at a computer screen with my hand on my johnson, I almost feel like crying. It doesn't seem a lot at the time; half an hour here, twenty minutes there, but if you add it up over a period of years, suddenly you're looking at a substantial chunk of your life. It definitely adds up to days, probably weeks. Shit it could almost add up to years. And what have you got to show for it? A pile of fetid jizz rags? I once heard someone say, “I can't imagine getting to the end of my life and thinking, 'jeez I wish I'd spent more time looking at internet porn.'”

Imagine at the moment of your death, when your life flashes before your eyes, all you see is your own stupid, mesmerised face, illumined only by your laptop screen, your tongue lolling from your slightly open mouth, your right hand on the mouse, your left furiously pounding your own dick. Is this really how you want to go? It ain't me, babe.

Take it back brothers! Shut your laptop! Go outside! Learn to play the violin! Do anything other than watching vulnerable women (and men) getting dicks jammed into their orifices! Do it for yourself! Do it for the world! #doitforthefluffers!



Sunday, 8 February 2015

Early Days

Please note. You may have noticed that this blog begins in February but covers a time period from the beginning of Jan. This is because I didn't think anyone would find it interesting (or that it was even a thing) until I started thinking about/researching it.

Since then, I have come across numerous websites, TED talks and forums (which will be shared in due course) on the subject and have discovered that going porn-free is indeed a 'thing', that there are many other people attempting it and that to document my experiences might be of benefit to the discussion as a whole. It might not, of course, but why not give it a go? I have also come to realise that keeping some sort of document will undoubtedly help me attain my goal in the long-term.

For this reason, I will have to retro-cover the first month of my challenge and give a précis of my experiences. This will mean the beginning of the blog maybe a bit jumbled and/or clogged with thoughts. For this, I apologise and promise you, Dear Reader, that once I am caught-up, all you will read will be nothing but nothing but fresh (ish) ideas.

Weeks 1 and 2 – January 2015

In all honesty, the first couple of weeks of No Porn were not that difficult. This was for two main reasons. The first was that I was still seeing Kelly (for all intents and purposes my girlfriend [though she's not actually and it's complicated blah] and not her real name) and having real world sex at least like three times a week. Having regular, real world sexytime is the best guard against a porn binge, although it in no way eliminates the risk.

The other reason is that it just isn't that hard to give up porn for a couple of weeks. Every habitual porn user has had weeks here and there when they can't get on the internet. This just felt like another one of those. I still thought about porn and got cravings, but it was easy not to give in because I think, in my subconscious, I knew I would be going back soon (even though my conscious mind had other ideas).

As I've said, I have tried (and failed) to give up porn before. I think I my longest 'streak' (NoFap speak for porn-free period) may have been as long as thirty days or more. So in the beginning, this felt like my previous attempts. I guess it's the same when you give up anything. It's not the stopping but the idea that you will never do it again which is hard to face. This is usually what prevents people from taking the (crucial) first step.

Other factors which made it easy not to pornwank were that I was preparing to move overseas for six months and there was so much organisation to do that I did not have a huge amount of time to myself. Boredom and idleness as well as stress and anxiety are some of the biggest dangers (for me) when it comes to internet porn cravings.

Also during this time, I began to realise that to constantly acknowledge and repeat my goals was a good way to avoid giving in to cravings. Asking myself, why am I doing this? What do I want to achieve? (see previous post for answers) on a regular basis helped me to remember what the whole thing is about and that this is an investment in Future Me that I hope to one day be proud of.

It's never easy, but comme on dit, the longest journey begins with the smallest step.

Saturday, 7 February 2015

In The Beginning Was The Wank

I have decided to try and go porn-free. Not to cut down, not to give up for a while but to give up for good, for ever; to go, as it were, 'cold jerky.'

Why have I done this? Well, let me tell you now why I have come to this decision and why I think it is the only rational choice for anyone who likes to consider themselves a modern, grown-up man.

It was on New Year's Day, 2015 when I realised something had to give. I had been at a party near my house in London. I had got fairly 'loose' at said party and eventually had passed out on a sofa in the kitchen. I woke up soaked in beer, for I had fallen asleep with an open can in my hand, as I often do.

I got up, said my goodbyes and cycled home. It was a classic London winter morning: cold, grey and unprepossessing. I got back to my house and did what I have always done, more or less, in this situation for my entire adult life: I went upstairs, closed the curtains and opened up my laptop. What else do you do when you feel like shit? Have a massive wank, of course!

This is a path I have followed probably hundreds if not thousands of times during my fifteen-year 'relationship' with hardcore internet pornography. Not always on a comedown but at (pretty much) any time; sneak off upstairs, close the curtains, open an 'incognito' window on my browser and disappear into a fantasy world of hot babes and hardcore fucking.

On this day, however, I was so hungover that no matter how hard I tried or which vids I watched, I just couldn't reach climax. This didn't stop me trying, of course. I thought if I just kept going, eventually I would reach release and I could melt – satiated – into blissful oblivion. I whacked it for hours, searching and searching for better, newer vids to get me excited, constantly feeling as if I was getting close, only to fall back from the brink, go 'soft' and have to start again.

Eventually, I gave up and got into bed feeling cheated. I watched some episodes of something and after an hour or so, decided to try again. I thought, “surely my hangover's worn off by now. Please God just let me come!” But again, no dice. Another hour of desperately searching vids, another hour of furiously* masturbating and still no result! No matter how hard I tried (and I really did), I just could not get there.

* Interesting that this is the adverb most commonly attached to the word 'masturbating.' You never hear of anybody 'languidly' or 'faint-heartedly' masturbating. Whenever it is written down or described in conversation, they are always  nothing other than fucking fuming.

Finally, after probably more than two hours of jerking off, I called it a day. I got into bed and fitfully slept. When I awoke on 2nd January, I thought about what had happened with a clearer head. Was this really me? Was this really the behaviour of a thirty-year-old man? Was this how I wanted to start a new year?

The answer to all of these questions was a resounding 'no!' This is absolutely not who I am. I'm not a pervert. I'm not someone who enjoys 'dogging but in private.' I don't need to sit alone in a darkened room watching other people have sex. This is not me, this is not adult behaviour; this is not what maketh a man.

So why have I been doing it for so long? How did I get here? Why am I acting like a 30-year-old boy? Can I stop?

There it was. The question crystallised right in that moment. Can I stop? Can I cut this behaviour out of my life? Can I end this cycle of shame? I had thought about and even tried giving up porn before, as I had not felt good about it for a long time (maybe even ever). But this, my friends, was my 'bottom' (as it is referred to in AA* circles): the point after which return is impossible, the point where change simply must come (no pun intended): sitting alone in a dark room at the age of thirty feeling mortified in front of my own self. I decided then it was time to break free; time to say goodbye once and for all to my obsession with internet porn.

*Alcoholics Anonymous, not Automobile Association.

* * *

You may think my conclusion dramatic. Surely, it's just a bit of fun? There's nothing to be ashamed of. It's only sex, after all &c. We may have to differ (for the moment) on this point. One thing I hope we can agree on is that the scene I paint is pathetic.

And more than this, it's sad. Here's a man in the prime of life, (I'm not even that bad-looking, honest!) perfectly capable of meeting and connecting with real women not only on a physical but on an emotional level, sitting alone immersing himself in a fantasy which is itself based on the subjugation and, yes, suffering of countless others. What the actual fuck?

It was shame that brought me to my decision. Shame for myself that, too afraid to speak my desires out loud, I was reduced to this reclusive voyeur; shame for the women (and men) who get up every day and make money from selling their bodies, who are objectified and debased so often that it has become routine; shame for the crews, costume and make-up artists, the sound recordists, camera operators, set builders and editors (all of whom presumably never aspired to working in porn) who spend days and hours in studios suffused with the stink of sex, filming close-ups of copulating genitals and cumshots; shame for the fluffers: people whose actual job it is to sit back stage of a porn set jerking off cocks to keep them hard; shame for the cleaners, wiping up jizz on minimum wage; shame for the millions who shut themselves away for hours every day, missing out on real connection, missing out on real life; shame for the children for whom this state of affairs is normal, who never knew a time before the internet and who grow up assuming the warped images portrayed in porn are how things are or should actually be; shame for us all, who live in a society saturated in porn and who are being changed and manipulated by it into people we don't even recognise.

This decision, however, is only mine. It is merely how I have come to feel. If you've worked it out for yourself and feel your relationship with porn is healthy, then more power to you brother (or sister). If you can rationalise porn's existence and justify it on your own terms, then good luck to you. Indeed, I'd be glad to hear from you. All I'm doing here is relating my own experience and narrating how I have come to feel, having thought about it long and hard (no pun intended).

This blog will chronicle my efforts to live a life free from PMO (Porn, Masturbation, Orgasm), the inevitable ups and downs and the dangers and pitfalls, as well as including ruminations on porn, society, myself, life, the universe and everything. Admittedly, it's a broad remit, but the main focus will always be on how to avoid sitting whacking off in front of a computer screen all (or even some of) the time. I hope you find it interesting, useful, hilarious or all of the above.

Yours,


Wayne Carr.